Snow Angels
by ckofshadows
Summary: An unexpected blizzard strands Kurt at Dalton.  How will he and Blaine pass the time?
1. Chapter 1

"I still can't believe that Dalton didn't cancel classes today." Burt Hummel fell heavily into one of the kitchen chairs, wrapping his callused palms around a fresh cup of coffee. He normally woke up for work around seven o'clock, but the sounds of his son getting ready had roused him that morning well before six. "There's got to be over a foot of snow out there already. And there's no sign of it stopping anytime soon."

Kurt shrugged, checking his reflection again in the hall mirror. "Don't forget, Dalton's an hour and a half away. According to the Weather Channel, Westerville hasn't gotten more than a dusting." He nudged a wayward hair back into place, and hit it with more hairspray.

Burt grunted, sipping his coffee. "Well, you were smart to get up and out early. It'll be a tough commute. You're sure you don't want to stay home today?"

"I'm sure. This is a really important day for me." Kurt nodded once at his reflection, finally satisfied. He opened the door to the coat closet and pulled out his taupe wool pea coat and a coordinating herringbone scarf.

"Oh? What do you have, a test?"

"No, today is the day when I debut..." Kurt paused for effect. "My Bijan for Men."

Burt choked on his coffee. "Your bij– Is that a gay thing?"

"It's only one of the finest colognes on the market, Dad. And today is the _first day_ I've used it." At his father's blank stare, he explained, "Cologne isn't like wine. It doesn't get better with age. The first spritz is just..." He waved his arm dramatically. "It's the highlight of the entire bottle. And I've already applied it. So no, I'm not wasting this day sitting at home. This scent deserves to be shared with the world."

"Well, as long as you feel comfortable driving, I guess it's okay." Burt scratched his belly absently. "But if you feel like the roads are getting too bad at any point, just promise me you'll pull over and wait out the storm."

"I promise."

"And call me when you get there. I don't want to have to worry."

"I will."

Kurt grabbed his satchel and an apple, waved to his father, and headed out to the garage. He was no stranger to the art of driving in the snow, and while this winter had been the worst in recent memory, he harbored no worries about the commute. His sturdy SUV could handle anything. Turning the key in the ignition and throwing the gear stick into reverse, he headed out of the driveway and made his way toward Route 117.

* * *

The roads were bad. Really, really bad. Even the major highways were caked with compacted snow. Kurt counted more than a dozen vehicles on the side of the highway in the first half-hour alone, and hoped fervently that they had pulled over by choice and not necessity. He felt his Escalade's tires start to slide a few times, and his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel only got tighter. Despite the state of the weather when he'd left home, the situation didn't seem to ease up at all as he drew nearer to Westerville. If anything, the snowfall grew heavier.

He was nearing his exit off of 270 when he heard his cell phone ring. He glanced at the caller ID before answering with his hands-free device. "Hey, Blaine."

"Is this awesome or what?" came the whooping reply. "I really thought all this snow was gonna miss us completely."

"Yeah, awesome," Kurt said drily. "Guess I brought it with me."

"Brought it where?"

"To Westerville."

"Oh, when you transferred from McKinley?" Blaine gave a polite, if puzzled, laugh. "I guess it's possible! So... any fun plans today?"

Kurt flicked on his turn signal and took the exit for Cleveland Avenue. "I think the highlight will, much like every Friday, be Warblers' practice." Blaine didn't respond, so Kurt went on. "I mean, not that Dalton classes aren't... good. They are. But singing is–"

"Kurt," Blaine interrupted. "Tell me you got a call from Winston this morning."

"Winston Graves? No, haven't heard from him. Good Gaga, this town needs better snowplows."

"I'm going to kill him."

"Winston was supposed to plow?"

"No, Winston was supposed to call you as part of the Dalton phone chain. To say that school was canceled today."

Kurt's jaw dropped open. "To say _what_?"

"Yeah."

"Please tell me you're joking."

"I wish I were."

"I.." He swore under his breath as he signaled to make the right turn onto the main street in town. "This is just great. I've been driving for over two hours. I'm like... a mile away from campus. What the hell am I–" Suddenly, as he turned, the back wheels of the Escalade began to skid. "Oh, shit."

"Kurt?"

"Shit shit _shit._" He'd been going too fast, and taken the turn too sharply. The SUV drifted across the opposite lane of traffic, and a car was heading right for him. "Shit!"

"Kurt!"

There was a loud noise. Strangely, his first thought was that snow had somehow come through the roof of the car, because everything was white. He looked down at his trembling hands, which were covered with a fine white powder. The air was thick with it. The car horn was blaring, and he wondered how he was supposed to turn it off, because the steering wheel panel was covered with a now-deflated airbag. He blinked in confusion, trying to get his bearings.

"Are you okay?" Someone was knocking on his window. He looked over, too shaken to speak. "Kid, are you all right?" The man – who looked to be roughly his father's age, opened Kurt's door and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

Kurt shook his head dumbly.

The man let out a harsh sigh of relief. "Me neither. My wife told me not to drive today. Should have listened." He took a step back, surveying the damage to Kurt's Escalade. "Your car doesn't look good. Mine either."

Kurt tried to undo his seatbelt, but his hands were shaking too hard. The man took pity on him, and helped unbuckle him. He stumbled out of the seat and they stood together in the snow, staring at the damage. The front of the other car was crushed into his left backseat. The man pulled out his cell phone and called the police, who informed him that the governor had just declared a state of emergency. He and Kurt were given permission to leave their cars where they were, for the time being, because tow trucks had little chance of reaching them.

"Miracle we weren't hurt," the man said. "You live nearby? Want to use my cell to call your parents?"

"Lima," Kurt said finally. His voice sounded like a stranger's.

"You live in Lima? Good god. What are you doing all the way out in Westerville, on a day like today?" It was then that the man noticed Kurt's uniform trousers. His eyes brightened in understanding. "Ah. You're a Dalton boy."

Kurt nodded.

"Well, we can't stay out here, and both of our cars are too damaged to drive. I live about five minutes away. You're welcome to come wait out the storm at my house." The man held out his hand. "I'm Patrick Donnelly, by the way."

They shook hands. Kurt couldn't seem to get his mouth working again to introduce himself.

"What do you say? Would you like to come home with me? I have two sons around your age – Timothy and Andrew. I'm sure they'd be glad to have a new Call of Duty opponent. And my wife will want to mother you to death, no doubt."

Kurt breathed in and out, just staring at his beautiful, totaled car. If he had drifted just a few feet further, Mr. Donnelly would have hit the driver's side of his car head-on at 45 miles per hour. A mere second or two may have saved Kurt's life.

"Hey, you sure you're all right?"

Before he could answer, Kurt heard the thrum of an approaching vehicle. He and Mr. Donnelly both turned to see a familiar-looking silver Outback round the corner and head toward them. It slowed to a crawl as it approached, before stopping altogether. Immediately, the passenger side door opened, and Blaine jumped out, hitting the ground running. Behind him, Wes emerged from the driver's side, as David exited the back.

Mr. Donnelly managed to ask, "Friends of yours?" just before Blaine reached them.

"Kurt, are you okay?" His eyes were wide with panic. "Are you hurt?"

Kurt shook his head.

Blaine threw his arms around him, nearly knocking the wind out of him. "You scared the hell out of me!" It was then that Kurt finally remembered their conversation before the accident. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"Oh, god, don't apologize. I... just, _don't_. At least you're okay. You're okay, right?"

Kurt nodded. He noticed Wes and David talking quietly with Mr. Donnelly.

Blaine followed his line of vision. "After I heard your accident and you weren't responding to me, I started running out of the dorm to come find you, and they intercepted me. Wes said I was too upset to drive, and that we should take his Outback anyway, since it handles better than my car in the snow. And I think David just came along for moral support." Even as Blaine spoke, his eyes raked over Kurt, checking for any signs of injury. "You're really all right?"

Mr. Donnelly was looking over at him.

"Kurt?" Blaine pressed.

He didn't know what to do. His car was destroyed, his home was miles away, school was canceled, and the snow was only coming down harder as more time passed. He supposed that he should find shelter – he was shaking all over.

"Look, boys," Mr. Donnelly said, approaching them. "I think your friend here is in shock. Why don't you let me take him home, and–"

"Like hell," Blaine scowled, taking Kurt by the elbow. "He's coming to Dalton with us."

"Isn't school closed? Are there even adults on campus?"

"The headmaster is there," David said calmly. "And the resident nurse is in the infirmary. We can get Kurt checked out there."

Mr. Donnelly peered at Kurt. "What do you want to do? Would you rather go to Dalton, or–" He broke off as Kurt took a step closer to Blaine. "Okay, as long as there's someone looking after you. I've given my contact information and insurance provider to your friends here. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

Kurt nodded, not ungratefully.

"We should head back," Wes said, looking up at the sky. "This is starting to turn into a blizzard." The boys helped Kurt retrieve his bag and cell phone from his car, and then piled into the Outback. Wes and David sat in the front, while Kurt and Blaine climbed into the back. Mr. Donnelly politely declined their offer of a ride, and turned to walk down the street, buttoning up his overcoat against the cold, snowy wind.

Blaine kept one hand on Kurt's back during the ride, murmuring words of comfort. Out of deference to Kurt, Wes drove back slowly, glancing into the rear-view mirror from time to time to judge his friend's state.

When they pulled through the stately wrought-iron gates to Dalton, Blaine leaned over and said quietly, "I know this is probably the wrong time to mention this, but you smell _fantastic_."

For the first time that day, Kurt smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

The campus was quiet.

Freshly fallen snow at Dalton Academy usually resulted in boisterous snowball fights, anatomically correct snowmen, and more than a few snow forts. But the air was so thick with flakes that it was hard to see, and the students weren't venturing outside. Wes drove slowly into the unplowed parking lot, crunching down over a foot of snow.

There were two main dormitories on campus. Lexington Hall housed the athletes, while Brighton Hall welcomed the artists and scholars. Surprisingly, the division had little to do with social hierarchies; it was more about simple compatibility. Lexington boys tended to go to bed before ten and rise for pre-dawn workouts, while Brighton boys studied or practiced their craft until the moon was high in the night sky. Lexington boys liked the noise of impromptu roller hockey games in the hallway and the sharp odor of well-earned sweat, while Brighton boys preferred to the sound of instruments being tuned and the heady scent of oil paints and turpentine.

Most of the Warblers, unsurprisingly, lived in Brighton. Kurt followed David, Wes, and Blaine into the old brick building, sighing with relief once they reached the warm interior. His mind still felt fuzzy, as though he were witnessing a rather realistic dream.

"We'll bring your stuff upstairs," David told him, taking his satchel. "Blaine, why don't you run Kurt over to the infirmary so Mrs. Adams can check him out."

Blaine nodded. "It'll just take a second," he said to Kurt. "Let's make sure you're all right." They left through the back door and made their way down unshoveled paths. Kurt grimaced as he felt clumps of snow invading his shoes and soaking his socks.

The infirmary was a small stone building that had once been a home. In fact, it still housed the nurse, along with any seriously ill students. As they drew nearer to it, they saw Mrs. Adams waiting outside. She was an elderly woman with bright blue eyes and a kind smile.

"My goodness, let's get you inside," she murmured, placing a gentle hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Your friend Wesley called and told me about the accident. How are you feeling, dear?" At Kurt's shrug, she led both boys into the waiting room. "We'll use exam room 1. Blaine can wait for you out here."

Kurt took off his jacket and handed it to Blaine. His cell phone started to ring, and when he looked at it, he rolled his eyes.

"Who is it?" Blaine asked. Kurt handed him the phone. The caller display read _Winston Graves. _"I'll take it for you," Blaine said, looking grim. "I want to have a word with this guy."

Kurt nodded and followed Mrs. Adams into the exam room. She handed him a paper gown and left briefly to give him privacy while he changed. As she opened the door, he caught a snippet of Blaine's conversation: "What were you _thinking,_ Winston, the phone tree exists for a _reason_!" He gingerly peeled off his clothing, which smelled of airbag powder, and pulled on the paper gown. After a minute, Mrs. Adams knocked and came back into the room.

"Let's have a look," she said, opening the robe. He watched as her eyes widened. "Are your chest and neck sore?" she asked.

He nodded, dread pooling in his stomach.

"This is going to be a nasty seatbelt bruise," she said. She instructed him to stand, then tested his range of motion, checking for broken bones. "I assume your voice has been affected?" She caught his startled expression. "Don't be shy, dear."

"It – it sounds weird," he croaked.

"You're a member of the Warblers, aren't you?"

He nodded again, feeling tears pricking at the backs of his eyes.

"Well, no need to fret. Between the contusion on your neck and the inhalation of lubricant powder from the airbags, you can expect your speaking voice to be a bit strange for a few days. It will come back. Don't worry. It may take a couple of weeks for you to be able to sing normally again, but that will come back as well."

"Okay." He swallowed a sigh of relief.

"I expect you'd rather be in the dorms with your friends than in here all day, so I'll just check a few more things and then you can go. It won't be long before the snow is too deep for you to get back." She examined his throat, nose, ears and eyes, and checked his reflexes. Kurt's mind was growing clearer with every passing minute, and he appreciated the calm way that Mrs. Adams went about her job. He was buttoning up his shirt when he heard Blaine's raised voice outside the door.

"No, he's fine! He's... no, he's really fine! The car... he's fine!"

"Guess Winston was worried about me," Kurt said to the nurse, just before a sharp rap sounded from the door.

Mrs. Adams opened it. Blaine was standing there looking confused, the cell phone clutched in his hand. "Kurt, your dad is–"

"You called my _dad_?" Kurt lunged for the phone.

"No, he called and–"

"Dad?" Kurt pressed the phone to his ear. "Dad, you there?"

"Kurt?" His father's panicked voice shouted out of the earpiece. "Are you all right?"

"I'm totally fine, don't worry." He tried in vain to sound relaxed.

"What's wrong with your voice?"

"Dad, I promise I'm okay_. _The school nurse checked me out and everything."

"Let me talk to her," Burt said, leaving no room for argument.

Kurt handed the phone to Mrs. Adams, then dropped onto the exam room cot, his head spinning.

"I'm sorry," Blaine whispered, as the nurse spoke soothingly into the phone, reassuring Burt about his son's state of health. "The cell display said he was calling, and I didn't want him to wonder why you weren't picking up the phone–"

"I understand," Kurt said, hunching over. "You were trying to help." Blaine sat beside him, and the two boys listened as Mrs. Adams succeeded in calming Burt down a bit. She handed the cell phone back to Kurt, who talked to him for a few more minutes. Finally, after he'd sufficiently convinced his father that he was unharmed, Kurt ended the call.

"If you boys don't want to stay here for the foreseeable future, you should head out now," Mrs. Adams said, looking out the window. "It's only getting worse out there."

Kurt finished getting dressed while Blaine retrieved his coat. They thanked the nurse for her help, then trudged back toward Brighton silently.

Although he had toured Dalton's campus as an accepted student, Kurt had never ventured further into the dormitories than the entrance halls. He looked around as they entered, wondering where the student rooms were located. "Follow me," Blaine said, leading him up the stairs. He swiped his ID card before opening a heavy fire door and ushering Kurt through. Ahead of them stretched a hallway with more than thirty doors spaced evenly along cinderblock walls.

"Not what you expected?" Blaine asked, catching Kurt's expression.

"Thought it'd be a little fancier, I guess," Kurt admitted.

Blaine smiled, moving forward. "The residence halls are pretty basic when you get beyond the common rooms," he said. "I'm down here on the left." None of the doors were marked with names, Kurt noticed. Only the stenciled number 214 indicated that Blaine's room was his. "Home sweet home," Blaine said, as he unlocked the door and held it open for Kurt. "See if you can guess which side of the room is mine."

As Kurt entered the room, he had to laugh. The left side was rather stark, featuring just a bed, a desk with a sensible swivel lamp, and a bureau. Meanwhile, the entire wall on the right side was covered with framed Playbills and theater posters. The bulletin board over the cluttered desk was a collage of ticket stubs, photographs and sheet music, and two guitars were propped up against the bureau. "How on earth did you get frames hung on cinderblock walls?" Kurt asked in amazement.

"The savior of every boarder," Blaine replied. He pulled one frame off the wall, and it made a loud ripping noise. "Velcro tape."

"Incredible. Have you really seen all of these plays?" There had to be four dozen Playbills up there, he noted with some jealousy.

"I have. Though you may notice a few are repeats."

"Well, they're hardly redundant if they're different casts," Kurt reasoned. "Different performances can mean completely different shows."

"That's what _I _said!" Blaine exclaimed.

They grinned at each other for a moment, then looked away, embarrassed. "Are you good at playing guitar?" Kurt ventured finally.

"I'm okay. Not too good at picking... mostly I just learned the chords, so I can accompany myself on songs."

"Maybe you could play me something sometime."

Blaine smiled, his eyebrows twitching a little. "Maybe I could."

The sound of running footsteps came from the hallway, and Blaine opened the door. They watched as a dozen boys scurried by. "What's going on?" he called out.

Trent stuck his head in the doorway. "Jamie got the projector hooked up," he said with excitement. "We're going to watch a movie in the common room, on a big screen. You guys should come – it's going to be epic."

Blaine turned back. "You interested?"

"Ehh." Kurt wrinkled his nose a little. "Depends. What movie?"

"Burlesque," Trent said.

Kurt paled. "Common room," he gasped. "_Where_?"

They pointed in the direction that the other boys had run, and Kurt took off down the hall.

Blaine looked at Trent slyly. "Burlesque?"

"Well, Jamie had his heart set on Inception," Trent admitted. "But I convinced him that Kurt had had a bad enough day, and he deserved a little pick-me-up."

"You're a good man," Blaine said, clapping him on the shoulder as they trailed after Kurt. "I owe you one."

"You owe me at least ten, good buddy."


	3. Chapter 3

Around twenty boys gathered in the common room to watch Burlesque. Most were Warblers, and every boy made a point of asking how Kurt was feeling when they caught sight of him. They sprawled out on the couches and the carpet, waiting for the film to begin. Some had come to watch because they were interested in the music, some were excited about the scantily-clad actresses, and some were just plain bored after having been stuck inside all morning.

"Here we go," Jamie said, starting up the projector. The boys whistled and cheered as the movie began.

The story unfolded, and drew the audience in quickly. Wes darted off for a few minutes and came back with several bags of popcorn, passing them out to the viewers. There were a few salacious comments on Christina Aguilera's body, but for the most part, they watched silently.

Kurt chewed on a mouthful of popcorn slowly. Normally, for a movie like this, he would be sitting on the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the screen in reverence. He was uncomfortable, though. The bruise from his seatbelt had left his chest feeling achy and tender, and no amount of shifting seemed to find him a comfortable position. He saw Blaine look over from the other end of the couch, and he gave his friend a bright smile which was quickly returned. Blaine got up from the couch a moment later.

"You're going to miss Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend if you leave now," Kurt whispered, appalled.

"I won't be long," Blaine whispered back. "Just need to take care of something."

He left through a side door right as the opening strains of Diamonds began to play. Michael, who was sitting across the room, nodded his head along with the beat, pursing his lips and starting up a base rhythm of vocal percussion. The other Warblers, grinning, started adding harmonies on the spot. Kurt wanted to join in, but his throat was too sore. Instead, he sat and listened to the music swell around him, enjoying being a spectator.

"Hey." Blaine was back, leaning over the back of the couch, his hand outstretched. "Thought you might need these."

Kurt opened his palm, and Blaine pressed two Tylenol into it. He looked up in surprise. "How did you–"

Blaine just winked, handing him a bottle of water before making his way back to his seat. Kurt swallowed the pills gratefully, washing them down with water. When he glanced over at Blaine a couple of minutes later, he saw that Blaine was watching him. He opened his mouth to say something, when suddenly the projector screen went blank.

"Hey! Bring back the underwear girls!" someone shouted.

Jamie jumped up and fiddled with the projector, checking the wires. "That's odd," he said, frowning. "David, try that light switch next to you." David flicked the switch on and off, but the room stayed dim. "Power's out," Jamie deduced.

"It was probably just a matter of time," Michael said.

Kurt looked at Blaine. "You guys lose power a lot?"

"Not a lot, but with the bigger snowstorms it tends to happen."

Michael stood up, rubbing his hands together. "Okay, guys, if the power's out, you know what that means." The rest of the boys shared a gleeful look, then bolted for the door. "In an orderly fashion!" he yelled. "Don't make me give you demerits!"

Kurt and Blaine were the last to leave the room. "There's a freezer full of ice cream in the basement kitchen," Blaine explained. "Whenever the power goes out, Michael lets us eat all the ice cream before it melts."

"Why is that Michael's decision?"

"He's Head of House. It's kind of like Head Boy, in the Harry Potter books. Do you want any ice cream?"

"Nah, I'm all right. You?"

"I'm good. We could go back to my room, I guess."

"Okay." Kurt followed Blaine back upstairs, smiling as they passed other boys who were running down the hallway. "You guys do know that the ice cream would stay cold for a long time if you just kept the freezer door closed, right?"

"Well, sure, but where's the fun in that?" Blaine smirked, unlocking his door and holding it open for him. "So what would you like to do? Unfortunately my laptop battery only holds a charge for an hour and a half, so we can't watch any movies."

"Would you think I was a huge nerd if I said I wanted to do homework?" Kurt asked tentatively.

"Yes, I would." Blaine laughed. "But I'm a huge nerd too. Let's do it. It'll give me a chance to get a jump-start on my European History project." He took out his battery-powered iPod speakers and chose a playlist of classical music, then opened the blinds to let in as much sunlight as possible. The two boys settled side-by-side on Blaine's bed, their books spread out around them. For over an hour, the only sounds were of sweeping symphonies, rustling pages, and the scratching of pencils on paper.

As Kurt finished up with his French translation assignment, he found himself looking around Blaine's side of the room. The sheer number of theater Playbills was still daunting; he noticed that several were autographed. His gaze shifted to Blaine's bulletin board, and the photographs that were tacked to it. There was one of the Warblers, one of Kurt and Blaine at Sectionals, one of three unfamiliar girls, and what looked to be a professional family portrait. He leaned a little closer to the bulletin board, squinting.

"Do you really have four brothers?"

Blaine looked up, startled. "Huh?" He saw where Kurt was looking, and smiled. "Oh. Yes. Youngest of five."

"I didn't know that."

Hopping to his feet, Blaine retrieved the photo, then sat back down, showing it to Kurt more closely. "That's Eric, and Elliot... the tall one is Edwin, he's the oldest. Just turned thirty. And Evan's closest in age to me; he's three years older."

"I didn't realize you were half-Asian."

"Most people don't. Elliot looks the most like my mom, I think. We have a cousin back in the Philippines who looks more like Elliot than I do."

Kurt cocked his head. "Wait... so, Elliot, Eric, Edwin, and..."

"Evan."

"And _Blaine_?"

"I know."

"Why do all of their names start with the letter E except yours?"

Blaine sighed, peeking up at Kurt from beneath his lashes. "You can't laugh."

"I won't."

"You have to promise."

Kurt crossed his heart with his pinky.

"I can't believe I'm telling you this," Blaine muttered. "I never tell _anyone _this story. The truth is, when my mom was pregnant with me, she had an ultrasound. And I guess when they did it, certain... _things_... weren't visible onscreen."

"What sorts of – _oh._" Kurt had to clench his jaw to keep from smiling.

Blaine's cheeks were reddening. "There wasn't anything, you know, _wrong _with me down there, it was just the angle."

"No, I mean, yeah, of course." Not funny not funny not funny...

"And Mom was a huge fan of Seinfeld back then, and she loved the character Elaine, so she had thought she'd name her daughter after her–" To his horror, Kurt heard a tiny giggle escape from between his lips. Blaine looked at him, aghast. "You _promised_!"

"It's not funny at all," Kurt gasped. He leaned over, clutching at his sore chest to stay still, even as laughter bubbled up from his diaphragm. "It's really serious."

Finally Blaine gave up looking affronted, and snickered a little as Kurt broke down completely. "Well, it gave them a bit of a shock when I was born," he said. "They were totally unprepared. Dad wanted to name me Emmett, but Mom had already stenciled the name Elaine on my wall..."

"Oh come on, you're messing with me."

"I wish I were." Blaine held up his palms. "Anyway, back when my mom had moved to the States from the Philippines, she used to watch all these American movies to try to get accustomed to the culture. One of her favorites was Pretty in Pink. So when she had to come up with a name on the spot, she went with Blaine. Made adjusting the stencil pretty easy."

Kurt grinned. "That's actually kind of sweet. And Blaine in Pretty in Pink, he was a pretty debonair guy, as I remember."

The smile on Blaine's face faded into a more pensive expression. "I wonder sometimes, whether the reason she was so accepting of my being gay was because she'd never really stopped thinking of me as a daughter." He shook his head. "I've never said that out loud before."

Kurt peered at the woman. Her wide smile looked just like her son's. "Are you two close?"

"Yes. Very."

"That's nice."

Blaine hummed in agreement. "My brothers are all really tight with my dad, and with each other. Mom and I sort of stick together. I guess it's always been that way." He looked up at Kurt. "Is it weird for you, having a new kind of family?"

"Sometimes," Kurt admitted. "There was a definite adjustment period. Dad and I had lived on our own for such a long time. But Finn and I, we've bonded over the past few months. Carole's a little different. I still think of her as _Finn's Mom_, and _Dad's Wife_. We like each other, but she doesn't really feel like a mother to me, at least not yet."

He waited for Blaine to tell him to give it time, like everyone else did. But he was surprised when his friend said instead, "Maybe she won't ever feel that way to you. You had a mother already. Maybe you aren't looking to replace her in your heart." Blaine shrugged. "Don't feel compelled to put a label on it. Sometimes labels just mess everything up." The boys looked intently at one another, and suddenly Kurt wasn't sure that he was talking about Carole at all.

"Hey Blaine?" he breathed.

"Yeah?"

"I could really go for some ice cream."

Blaine grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."


	4. Chapter 4

While classes might have been canceled, having nearly all of the Warblers together in one building proved too irresistible a temptation for Wes. He sent out a mass text, telling them that their usual Friday evening practice was still on. Only Winston, who lived in Lexington Hall, and Adam, who was a day student, were excused.

Most of the members were still eating ice cream in the basement kitchen when they got the text message. There was some grumbling, but Kurt felt sure he wasn't the only one who was actually looking forward to practicing.

That is, until he remembered he couldn't sing.

Instead, he sat and watched while the group rehearsed. Practice turned out to be a complete disaster. The group's pitch kept sliding flat, the soloists were forgetting lyrics, and the basses were overpowering the other sections. The choreography wasn't complicated, but that didn't stop Jeff and David from tripping over each other three different times. Even the rhythm was dragging, despite Michael's usual vocal percussion talents.

"This is ridiculous," Wes said crossly, after Jeff and David went sprawling onto the ground for a fourth time, their feet tangled. "Winston and Adam should be here. Having members missing throws the entire group off our game."

"The snow is over two feet deep now," Thad pointed out. "Winston probably can't open the front door of Lexington at this point. And as for Adam, I don't think we need _another_ member getting into a car accident, do we?"

"Well... you guys shouldn't have eaten ice cream," Wes said. "Everyone knows dairy is bad for your voice. It creates mucus and–"

"Your argument would be more compelling if you hadn't dripped rocky road on your sleeve," Trent said.

Wes frowned, picking at the offending stain but still looking to place blame somewhere else. "Well..." He looked over at Kurt. Blaine leaned forward, shaking his head silently in warning. "Fine," Wes grunted, banging his gavel. "We're a lost cause tonight. Practice is adjourned."

There were more than a few sighs of relief. The Warbler members packed up their sheet music, chatting quietly. "What now?" Kurt asked Blaine, curious. As sunset approached, their options for entertainment without the use of power were growing limited.

Blaine checked his watch. "It's six o'clock, so I guess we grab dinner."

"We just had massive bowls of ice cream. How could you be hungry?"

"Let me explain to you how teenage boys' metabolisms work..." Blaine slung an arm around Kurt's shoulders as they followed the rest of the boys back down to the kitchen. Kurt listened intently, trying his hardest to ignore the lovely feeling that twisted deep in his stomach every time Blaine's hand dipped down to graze his elbow. "See, we're hungry all the time, but as a trade-off, we get to eat anything we want, all day long."

"Fascinating," Kurt replied drily. "I _so_ appreciate the human physiology lesson. But is there any healthy food in the kitchen, or is it all just junk?"

"The Dining Services people keep it stocked up pretty well. Initially it was supposed to be emergency rations, but after they realized the guys were just eating anything they put in here, they were a little more strategic. Now, whenever there's snow in the forecast, they put enough food in there to last us for days."

"Even without power?"

"Sure – although there won't be much produce right now. Michael is strict about keeping the refrigerator shut when the power's out, and that's where they keep the green stuff." He gave Kurt a reassuring smile. "We'll find you something, don't worry."

The kitchen was packed with at least thirty boys, rummaging through the pantries and cardboard boxes. As the boys filed out one by one, Kurt spotted their armfuls of pre-packaged peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, potato chips, Oreos, and Coke. He resigned himself to eating pore-clogging, hips-spreading junk food for dinner. To his surprise, though, when he reached the pantry himself he found plenty of options. Finally he selected a packet of tuna, Wasa crackers, a banana, and Parmalat milk, and tried not to roll his eyes when Blaine opted for three PBJs and two Parmalats. They took the food up to Blaine's room and ate while finishing up their homework.

It was... nice. Kurt felt almost domestic with Blaine, although he immediately pushed the thought out of his head. He looked up at one point to find Blaine grinning at him, with a bit of peanut butter sticking to the corner of his mouth, and he had to swallow hard to keep from leaning over and–

The door opened, and Michael poked his head in. "Guess what."

"What?" Blaine asked, licking his lips as Kurt stared at the floor.

"It'll be dark soon." Michael's eyes were twinkling.

Blaine cocked his head. "That's now it works every night."

"And there's no power."

"Right..."

"Meaning no lights."

"That..." Blaine's face suddenly lit up with comprehension. "Wait, seriously? Grog?"

"Epic Dorm Grog," Michael confirmed. "David looked up the sunset time on his iPhone, and it's supposed to be completely dark in twenty minutes. We're meeting in the common room in ten to go over the rules while the Grog makes the rounds."

"Awesome."

Michael left, and Kurt turned inquisitive eyes to Blaine. "Grog? Isn't that, like, alcohol?"

"Nope. I mean, yeah, it can be that, but Grog is also a game. A bunch of us used to play it at camp growing up. Works great in a dorm." He looked appraisingly at Kurt's uniform. "You can't play wearing that, though. I'll lend you some of my clothes."

"Your clothes?" Kurt felt his jaw go slack. "To wear?"

"Well yeah, you'll have a better chance of fitting into mine than into my roommate's. Jaewon is five feet tall on a good day." Blaine stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, then jumped to his feet, heading over to his bureau. "You have to dress all in black for Grog. The game is all about stealth." He pulled out two pairs of black sweatpants, along with a black long-sleeved shirt and a black sweatshirt. "Do you want the shirt, or sweatshirt?"

"Shirt," Kurt croaked out. Blaine threw him the shirt and one of the pairs of sweatpants, then started unbuttoning his own dress shirt. Kurt tried not to stare. The room had grown darker in the dusky light, but he could still make out Blaine's form fairly well as the boy took off his shirt and shimmied out of his pants. He was standing in just his boxers, acting as though this were completely normal, and Kurt couldn't exactly remember what air was.

Finally he blinked, realizing he looked like a pervert just sitting there and watching the impromptu strip show. He rose and unbuckled his belt, embarrassed. Off went the slacks, and on went the sweatpants. They were a bit too short for him, and he grimaced at the inch of pale ankle skin peeking out from below the elastic bottoms. Blaine was smirking at him a little, so he lifted his chin haughtily and ignored the muffled snort directed his way. His fingers were a little shaky as he unbuttoned his shirt and stripped it off. There was a sharp intake of breath, and he looked up, startled, to see Blaine staring at him.

"Jesus, Kurt."

He followed Blaine's gaze down to his chest, and saw how dark his seatbelt bruise had become. "Oh. Yeah."

Blaine looked stricken. He stepped forward. "I didn't know it was that bad. Are you okay? Do you want to skip the game and rest instead?"

"No, no. I'm fine." Kurt picked up the shirt and tried to slip it on, but to his dismay, he found that he couldn't raise his arms above shoulder level without grimacing in pain. "I could use a little help, though. If it's not a bother."

"Sure, of course." Blaine was at his side in an instant, pulling the shirt gently over Kurt's head, and easing his arms into the sleeves one at a time. The light in the room was so faint now that Kurt almost thought that Blaine was blushing.

"Thanks."

"Any time," Blaine replied, sounding a little breathless. They both heard the footsteps of neighbors on the hall heading down to the common room. "We should go," he said. They both left the room and walked down the hallway, which was dark but for the eerie red light cast by the battery-powered Emergency Exit signs.

Most of the dorm's residents were in the common room by the time they arrived. Michael waited for a few more stragglers as Kurt and Blaine snagged a spot on a couch by the wall, then began to speak. "Okay, for those of you who haven't played, here is how Grog works. There's one person who is essentially 'it.' That's the Grog. His goal is to tag everyone. Everyone else is working together. Before the game begins, the Grog takes a flashlight and disassembles it into four parts: the base, the top, and the two batteries. He can hide the parts anywhere in the dorm, as long as it is not inside of something else. So for example, it could be on top of the refrigerator, but not _inside _the refrigerator. Everyone is searching for those flashlight parts that the Grog hid. The goal is to find all four parts, reassemble the flashlight, and shine it on the Grog. That's how you win."

"What happens if the Grog gets you?" Kurt asked.

"If you are tagged by the Grog, then you have to freeze in place until another player can come along and untag you. Also, if the Grog tags you while you are carrying any of the flashlight parts, then he gets to take them and re-hide them." Michael smiled. "Now, Grog is always played in darkness, and it can be hard to tell who is another player and who is the Grog. So the rule is that the Grog can only walk, _never_ run, and with every step he takes, he has to say 'Grog' so that people know it's him. He is allowed to stay in rooms, quietly waiting to ambush people, but the moment he moves, he has to say 'Grog.'"

Blaine turned to Kurt, whispering, "I know this sounds confusing. Cliff's Notes version: you go around the dorm, searching in the dark for flashlight parts, and try not to get tagged. And if you hear someone saying 'Grog,' you run like hell."

"Got it. How do I get into the residential floors, though? I don't have one of those key cards."

"When the power goes out, the internal security systems go off, so nobody risks getting stuck. Besides, you and I will stick together."

The room was almost completely dark, now, and Kurt was thankful for that, as he felt his cheeks flushing.

"Okay," Michael continued, "While we've been talking in here, tonight's Grog, Wes, has been hiding the flashlight parts all over the dorm. The common room is a home base; you can't be tagged in here and he can't hide any parts here either. So, without further ado, as Brighton Head of House, I declare this game of Grog... begun!" The boys piled through the door. Some ran down the hall, while others tiptoed up the stairs.

Kurt and Blaine were the last to leave the room. Their eyes slowly adjusted to the faint red-hued light, and they looked at each other shyly.

"It can be hard to keep your balance in the dark," Blaine said. "I wouldn't want you to fall. Maybe we should hold hands."

"That seems sensible," Kurt whispered, after taking a deep breath. He held out his hand, and when he felt Blaine's slip into his and intertwine their fingers, he hoped his shiver wasn't noticeable. "So... where to first?"


	5. Chapter 5

"We should probably start with the kitchen," Blaine said. "It's only fair to hide some of the flashlight parts in common areas, and there aren't that many. There's the kitchen, the laundry room, the entrance hall, the residence hallways, the stairwells–"

"We're going to be at this all night, aren't we." Kurt felt Blaine's hand tighten around his, and he smiled to himself.

"Remember, everyone else is searching, too. The game goes more quickly than you'd think. Although..."

"Although?"

"Wes is the best Grog in the dorm. He moves like a ninja. You'll think you're in a room all alone, and suddenly you'll hear 'Grog' right behind you. Two guys almost wet their pants last year when he caught them in David's room."

"He can hide the parts in bedrooms?"

"Yeah, Michael gives him the master key, and he unlocks all the doors in the dorm. The flashlight parts could be literally anywhere in Brighton Hall. Except for the common room – that's our home base and he's not allowed to enter it."

Kurt nodded. "Well, I guess we should probably start searching."

They ventured along the hall, making their way toward the kitchen. The exit sign cast a red glow over them, but Kurt couldn't quite make out Blaine's expression. It was a bit unsettling. When they reached the kitchen and looked inside, Kurt found that he could barely see anything at all.

"I'll start with the chairs," Blaine whispered, closer to his ear than Kurt expected. He squeezed Kurt's hand again before letting go and running his palms carefully over the surfaces of each chair, then dipping underneath to search between the chair legs.

"I'll check the counters," Kurt breathed. The room felt colder when they weren't holding hands. He shivered a little, reaching out to feel his way along the granite countertop. There was a large square metal box that he figured had to be a microwave, a plastic cylinder that felt like an instant coffee machine, a thick container of napkins, an appliance that was either a mixer or a blender, and a small cylindrical– "Oh!" he squeaked with excitement.

Blaine jumped, hitting his head under the table. "You find something?" he asked, rubbing at his scalp.

"I think I–" He picked up the object, feeling it with his fingertips. "Oh. No. False alarm. I thought it was part of the flashlight, but it's a salt shaker."

"Should've warned you. That fools me almost every time."

They continued to search the room. Blaine finished up checking the table and chairs without success, and moved on to the pantry. Meanwhile, Kurt found himself in front of the refrigerator, eying it dubiously. "Wes wouldn't really have been able to reach the top of the fridge, right?"

"He could've stood on a chair or the counter. Better check just in case."

"Mm." Kurt didn't move.

"Something wrong?"

"It's just that I can't–"

"_Oh._" Blaine's slap to his own forehead was audible. "I'm sorry, Kurt, I forgot you can't reach over your head. Here, let me do it."

"It's too high," Kurt protested. "You won't be able to reach it." He felt Blaine come to stand beside him, and tried to breathe in the lovely scent of the other boy without seeming too creepy. "Chances are he didn't put anything up there anyway."

"Wes hides the parts where people would least expect it. The odds are decent enough that we should check." Blaine reached out, finding the countertop in front of him. "I'll just climb up on the counter and feel around up there."

"No way," Kurt hissed. "You can't see anything. What if you lose your balance and fall?"

With a little hop, Blaine was sitting on the counter, reaching out to take Kurt's hands in his. He pulled them toward him, settling them on his shins. "Here," he said, sounding a little hoarse. "Hold onto my legs to steady me while I search."

Kurt couldn't bring himself to respond. In fact, he wasn't at all sure that he could speak. Blaine clambered to his feet, and Kurt leaned forward, hugging Blaine's shins to his chest. He closed his eyes briefly, listening for the sound of a rolling battery. "Anything up there?"

"Uh huh."

"Really?"

"Well, if by 'anything' you meant dead spiders."

Kurt snickered at the distaste in Blaine's voice. "Ready to get down?"

"Do a little dance... make a little love... get down tonight," Blaine sang out in his best falsetto. He leaned down a little, finding the crown of Kurt's head with his fingertips. "Would it hurt if I used your head for leverage?"

"Uh." Kurt's head was right at Blaine's crotch level, and Blaine's hands were twisting sensuously in his hair. He was fairly sure his brain was short-circuiting. "No?"

"Okay." Blaine started to ease himself down into a crouch. Suddenly his left foot slipped off the edge, and he began to lose his balance. "Shoot shoot _shoot._" Kurt clutched at his legs, attempting to steady him. It didn't help. His arms flailing, Blaine slid off the counter, trying to avoid landing on Kurt. Instead he fell hard, pulling Kurt down on top of him. They lay tangled and bruised on the floor, Blaine groaning and Kurt gasping.

"Are you okay?"

"Are _you _okay?"

Wincing, they both got to their feet gingerly, dusting themselves off. "Seriously, though, are you hurt?" Kurt asked.

"Just my pride. What about you? Did you survive a car crash this morning only to get whiplash from me falling on you?"

He smiled, wishing he could see the other boy. "I'll survive."

They were standing close, now, so close that Kurt could hear the soft whistle of Blaine breathing through his nose. He wondered if he could lean forward, just a bit, and touch their lips together. If Blaine objected to the kiss, well, Kurt could blame it on the pitch-black room. Pitch-black rooms caused accidental kisses all the time, didn't they? He screwed up his courage, closing his eyes, leaning forward, his heart pounding in his chest, and–

"Grog," came a whisper by his ear.

He shrieked as Wes tagged him from behind. Blaine bumped into a chair as he scrambled out of the room, cursing and running down the hall toward the common room.

"Nice," Kurt said grumpily. "Really nice."

"Grog," Wes said again. Kurt could hear the laughter in his voice. "Grog grog grog."

He hung his head, listening as Wes grogged his way out the door and down the hallway toward the residential rooms. And then it was silent, absolutely silent. With the power still out, there was no hum of appliances, no faint strains of the television or radio. The absence of sound was almost oppressive. This game was stupid, Kurt decided. Having to stand still in a dark room with no heat was stupid_. _Blaine running off and abandoning him was stupid. Everything was–

"Hey," came a soft whisper from the doorway. "Is he gone?"

"Yeah."

Blaine tiptoed his way back to him. "Sorry for running off on you. If he tagged both of us we'd be stuck in here until someone else came along." He reached out, his hands groping in front of him until he touched Kurt's arm gently. "You're untagged."

Kurt didn't move, though, and Blaine sighed. "You're not really in the mood for playing Grog tonight, are you?"

"You fell on my head," Kurt replied piteously, and Blaine chuckled.

"Come on, let's go back to my room." He took Kurt's hand and interlaced their fingers, tugging him toward the door. When they left the kitchen, the red-hued hallway seemed bright in comparison. They made their way up the stairs and down the residential hallway.

"Where is everybody?" Kurt whispered.

"It's a quiet game, you know."

They reached Blaine's room and entered, shutting the door behind them. "Where's your roommate, anyway?"

"Jaewon? College visit. He's checking out Stanford."

"You're allowed to miss school to tour colleges?"

"Five excused days per year, yeah." Blaine led Kurt over to his bed, and they both sat down heavily. The moonlight streaming through the window bathed them in a blueish tone, and Kurt thought Blaine looked almost ethereal. "I can't believe how cold it's gotten in here."

Kurt nodded. "There's no backup generator?"

"No, if it gets really bad, then we all go down to the common room and start a fire in the fireplace." Blaine was still holding Kurt's hand, stroking his fingers softly. "Are you sore? Do you need more medicine? I have Tylenol, or Advil, or–"

"I'm fine. Just cold."

Blaine let go of his hand, getting up and heading to his dresser. "Here," he said, pulling open a drawer. "This is my warmest one." He took out a thick fleecy sweater and handed it to Kurt, who just looked at him. "Right," Blaine said. "Sorry." He took the sweater back and pulled it over Kurt's head gently, helping him work his arms into the sleeves. "There. That any better?"

"Mm-hmm," Kurt replied unconvincingly, his teeth starting to chatter.

Frowning with concern, Blaine gestured for Kurt to stand up, then quickly turned down his comforter. "Here. Get in." Gratefully, Kurt slid into the bed and under the covers. Blaine followed, and soon they were face to face, lying on their sides with their bodies only a few inches apart. "This okay?" Blaine said, drawing the comforter up to their shoulders.

"Better." To Kurt's delight, Blaine reached out and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him a little closer.

"Warmer," Blaine agreed. They smiled at each other goofily in the faint moonlight.

The door to the room opened suddenly, and someone started to make his way inside. "Grog," called Kurt in a moment of inspiration, and the person hurried out to the hall at once. Blaine laughed, leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. His hand traced faint patterns on Kurt's back.

"This is nice," he said softly.

Kurt breathed slowly, basking in the scent and feel of Blaine beside him. "It is. But it can't last."

He felt Blaine stiffen slightly. "Why not?"

Sighing, Kurt slipped his hand out from under him. He was holding the base of a flashlight. "Because this was on your pillow."


	6. Chapter 6

Blaine opened his bedroom door slowly, wincing at the loud creak of the hinges and listening for the sound of footsteps in the darkened hallway. When the coast seemed to be clear, he tugged on Kurt's hand, and the two boys crept out into the hall.

"Let's try the bedrooms," Blaine murmured softly in Kurt's ear.

Kurt swallowed a whimper. "Mm-uh?"

"Chances are good that Wes is sticking to the more high-traffic areas of the building, trying to catch more people. We might have a better chance of finding other players with pieces of the flashlight if we go through the bedrooms first."

Hand-in-hand, they moved down the hall, pushing open the bedroom doors one at a time. Finally, in Trent and Nick's room, they had a stroke of luck. David was standing in the doorway, triumph in his smile and the flashlight top in his hand. "You guys find anything?"

Kurt held up the flashlight base in silent reply, and David's eyes lit up. "Three down, one to go."

"Three?" Blaine asked.

David reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick battery. "Jeff found this behind a washing machine."

"Where's he?"

"Sacrificed," David replied. "We decided I was the Chosen One."

Kurt cocked his head in confusion. "What's that? Michael didn't mention that in the rules."

"It's a twist on Grog that we came up with," Blaine supplied, as Kurt handed the flashlight base to David. "We pick one person to collect the parts, and the rest of us sacrifice ourselves to make sure he doesn't get tagged. Like defensemen in football."

Kurt squinted at him. "Sports metaphors? Really?"

"In any case," David laughed, slipping the single battery into the flashlight base and screwing the top on securely, "we've just got one more piece to find. And last I heard, Wes was in the entrance hall, so we should probably–"

"Grog," came a whisper to the right of Blaine.

They all jumped in surprise, and suddenly, David was barreling past them, his deft footwork from years of playing soccer helping him to elude Wes' grasp. He knocked into Kurt, though, who went tumbling, falling into Wes, who fell hard into Blaine. The three boys ended up in a pile on the floor of the hallway.

"Ugh," Wes groaned, rubbing his shoulder as he lay there. "That fucking hurt. I mean... grog."

"You all right?" Blaine gasped, reaching out for Kurt.

Wincing, Kurt took a moment to breathe. "I'm definitely done with this game. If the car accident didn't break my ribs, that fall might have." When Blaine didn't immediately respond, he felt his heart rate quicken. "Blaine?"

"Uh?"

"Are you all right?"

"Uh..."

Kurt and Wes both sat up at once. "What's wrong?" they asked in unison.

Blaine sat up gingerly. "I, uh..." He let out a sigh. "I think I hurt my ankle," he admitted finally. "Twisted it pretty badly when we fell."

"Which ankle?" Wes asked. Blaine motioned to his right leg, and Wes reached out to inspect it. "I'm an EMT during school breaks," he explained to Kurt, then shook his head. "God, it's really hard to judge swelling and discoloration when I can barely see anything." He tried flexing the foot gently, and Blaine whimpered. "Probably a sprain," Wes said. "We'll need to get some ice on this right away. Kurt, can you go to the kitchen and get me a big bag of crushed ice, and a dishtowel?"

"Sure," Kurt agreed quickly, his own pain all but forgotten in his concern for Blaine. "But will he–"

"I'll be all right," Blaine assured him. "What about you? Can you find your way there by yourself?"

"I was a Cub Scout, Blaine, I'm pretty good with directions."

He could hear the smile in Blaine's voice as he asked, "Aww, a Cub Scout? Really?"

"I rocked that uniform," Kurt said archly, then reached out to squeeze Blaine's hand. "Be back as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Kurt," Wes said. "I'll get him into his room and elevate the leg in the meantime. I have an ACE bandage in my first aid kit, that should help too. Can you see if anyone has a flashlight, though? I don't have a lot of faith in my abilities to wrap his ankle in the dark."

"Seems like the game is pretty much over," Kurt reasoned, "so where's the last piece of the Grog flashlight hidden? That might be faster."

"I hid one part behind the washing machine in the laundry room... one on Trent's dresser... one on top of the fire extinguisher box in the entrance hall... and one on Blaine's pillow." Wes snickered to himself. "Gee, I wonder which one you two found."

Kurt felt his heart clench a little, remembering the intimate feeling of lying in bed with Blaine, and he heard a faint sigh come from Blaine's direction. Grinning to himself, he rose to his feet, walking carefully down the hallway and heading for the stairs.

The dorm was almost silent as he gripped the banister and made his way slowly down the staircase. He heard faint whispers when he reached the bottom, and called out, "David? Are you there?" There was no response, so he added, "Guys, the game is over. Can someone find David?"

There were a few more whispers before someone called back, "You'd have to say 'grog' if you were Wes, right?"

"You really don't recognize my voice?" he retorted, feeling his way along the entrance wall for the fire extinguisher box.

"Wes does a great Kurt impression," came the reply.

"Just get David, you imbecile," he snapped, and heard a faint _Oh yeah, that's Kurt for sure _trail down the hall. He finally found the box, and ran his fingers along the top of it until he felt the rounded surface of the last battery. Picking it up with relief, he shuffled toward the kitchen.

Halfway there, he bumped into something warm and solid.

"Oof. Kurt?"

"David," he said with relief. "Blaine twisted his ankle upstairs, and Wes says the game's over. Can I have the rest of the flashlight?" There was no immediate reply, and he narrowed his eyes in confusion. "David?"

"How do I know you're not pulling a Viceroy maneuver?"

"A what?"

"You know, when the Grog forms an alliance with–"

"You think I'd lie about Blaine being hurt? Wes needs the flashlight to look at his ankle."

"Sorry," David said, slipping the flashlight into Kurt's hand quickly. "This game sort of breeds paranoia." Kurt unscrewed the top and slipped the last battery in, flicking the switch and bathing them both in a surprisingly bright light.

"I need crushed ice now," Kurt said. "Freezer?"

David shook his head, looking dismayed. "No – we get ice from the built-in dispenser in the refrigerator. It won't dispense ice without power, and we're all under strict orders from Michael not to open that fridge."

"Even if it's an emergency?"

After a moment of pondering, David grinned. "Follow me." He grabbed the flashlight and led Kurt into the kitchen, where he rifled through drawers until he'd procured a thin dish towel and a large Ziploc baggie.

"And the ice?" Kurt pressed.

David wandered out of the kitchen, Kurt close behind, and made his way to the common room. A large fire was blazing merrily in the fireplace, a dozen or so boys gathered around it. "The game's over?" Jeff called, seeing the flashlight, and Kurt told him it was.

"What are we doing in here?" he asked David, who was striding purposefully to the left side of the room.

"Getting crushed ice," David replied cheekily, pulling open one of the windows despite the objections of the shivering boys around them. He took the baggie and leaned out through the open window, filling the bag with fresh snow.

"That'll work," Kurt said admiringly. "Thanks, I owe you one." He took the baggie from David, who left him to join the others by the fire, and made his way back up the stairs to Blaine's room. When he opened the bedroom door, his flashlight sweeping the interior, Wes looked relieved.

"Well done, Kurt. Let's take a look at that ankle now." He took the light from Kurt and shone it on Blaine's elevated ankle, then checked his other ankle for comparison. "Okay, well, it's definitely swollen, but the good thing is there's minimal bruising. You may have just strained it. For now, keep it elevated, ice it in intervals, and try not to move it. The Tylenol I gave you should kick in soon; that will help with the discomfort."

Blaine smiled weakly. "Thanks, Wes."

"No problem. You two mind if I take the flashlight downstairs? We usually start up a poker game after Grog finishes up." Both boys nodded at him, and with a pat to Blaine's shoulder, he left. The room was again plunged into darkness.

Kurt felt his way over to the bed and sat down carefully. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"No."

"Then why do you sound like you're in pain?"

Blaine sighed, sounding disappointed. "I was supposed to be taking care of you, and now you have to take care of me. Because I'm a klutz."

"You're a klutz because Wes fell on you?" Kurt smiled at him fondly, even if he couldn't see him. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I like taking care of you?"

There was a long pause, before he heard a faint and hopeful, "No?"

"Well, I do." Kurt heard the slide of fabric and felt the bed dip a little, and knew that Blaine had shifted to the far side of the bed to make room for him. He lowered himself down beside him, stretching out as much as the dull ache of his seatbelt bruise would allow. "I mean," he continued, "from the very beginning of this relationship, you've always been the one to try to rescue me. From Karofsky, from public school, from my own insecurities, from my wrecked car... it's nice not to be the needy one for once."

"Hmm," Blaine said, sounding pleased and smug.

"What?"

"You called this a relationship."

Kurt snorted, slapping Blaine's shoulder lightly. "You know what I meant."

"What if we–"

Kurt waited for Blaine to finish, but there was nothing more. "What if we what?"

"Nothing," came the subdued response.

Willfully ignoring the tangle of nerves in his stomach, Kurt snuggled up next to Blaine, and was relieved when he felt the other boy's arm encircle him lightly. "I think about that too," he admitted.

"Think about what?"

"What if we."

Blaine's arm tightened around him, and Kurt knew he had understood. He burrowed closer to Blaine's warmth, before drawing the blanket over both of them. In a matter of minutes, they had both fallen fast asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Kurt Hummel didn't believe in heaven. If he did, though, he suspected it might feel something just like this.

He burrowed more deeply against Blaine's side. Blaine's arm slid slowly up his back, his palm coming to rest between Kurt's shoulder blades. The comforter wrapped them in a soft, warm cocoon, and every breath smelled of a combination of Blaine's soap and Kurt's designer shampoo. And – he smiled as he picked up a whiff of it – just a trace of Bijan for Men. He honestly couldn't think of how the moment could get better.

And then Lady Gaga began to sing, just behind them.

Kurt smiled and sighed against Blaine's neck. Well, that did it. Now they had the perfect soundtrack to a perfect morning, and–

"Kurt?"

"Mm."

"Kurt."

"Sndtrick," he mumbled in response. "Perff sndtrick."

"Kurt, your phone is ringing."

"Mmphgaga."

Blaine groaned sleepily and reached a hand out from under the comforter, blindly groping at the surface of the desk behind them. Finally his fingers closed over the cell phone, and he thrust it into Kurt's hands.

"Hlo?" Kurt muttered, his eyes still closed. Gaga continued to sing.

"You have to press the – oh, for–" Blaine fiddled with the phone and handing it back to him.

"Hlo?"

"Kurt?"

Kurt cracked an eye open blearily. "Dad?"

"How're you feeling, buddy?"

"Mfine."

"Did I wake you up?"

"Huh?"

"I said, did I wake you up?"

"Huh?"

His dad chuckled. "Go back to sleep. Finn and I are going to shovel out the driveway, and then I'll come get you. Should be there in three hours or so – the main roads have all been cleared. Dalton's classes are canceled again, though."

"Oh." Kurt rolled onto his back, and Blaine whimpered at the loss of contact. "Kay."

"I'll call you when I'm near the campus, all right?"

"Yeah, okay. Bye, Dad." He mashed his fingers on the screen until the call ended, then dropped the phone back on Blaine's desk. The sunlight trickling in through the window was too bright, so he burrowed back against Blaine with a faint whine.

Blaine slid his arm back around him, chuckling softly. "Not a morning person, are you?"

"It's cold," Kurt mumbled, shivering a little when his lips accidentally touched the crook of Blaine's neck. "You're warm."

Blaine just hummed in response, resting his cheek against Kurt's forehead as both boys closed their eyes again.

It wasn't as though Kurt had never had a sleepover. He'd even shared a bed with two girls at once, and there'd been some serious cuddling going on that night. But those puppy piles had nothing on this. It felt as though every nerve in his body was simultaneously alert and asleep. Sensory overload didn't begin to cover it. He listened to the sound of Blaine's slow breaths, felt the shift of his leg–

"Crap!" Kurt opened his eyes, pulling back. "Your ankle! Is it okay? Should I get more ice?"

"It feels all right," Blaine said, flexing it a little. The ACE bandage was still secure, but the skin around it didn't appear swollen anymore. "Wes is actually really good at first aid. I don't want to chance taking off the wrap to check on it – but I think it's better. What about you? How's your seatbelt bruise?"

Kurt lifted up the front of his shirt to check. Sure enough, a dark purple bruise stretched across his chest. "I think it looks worse than it is," he said. "It hurts a lot less than it did yesterday." He looked up and was surprised to find Blaine staring at him with an inscrutable expression. "What?"

"You could have been really hurt in that car accident," Blaine said quietly.

"I know," Kurt admitted. "It shook me up."

"Me too. When I heard the crash, and I couldn't talk to you... Those ten minutes were terrifying."

"I'm fine, though."

"I know. It was just, yeah. Terrifying." Blaine sighed. "But you're here now."

"I am," Kurt said. "As are you." They smiled a little dreamily at each other. "By the way, I think your bed has magical healing properties," he teased. "For both of us to have bounced back from our injuries so quickly."

"It does feel kind of magical."

They kept watching each other, afraid to break the still of the silence. Finally, Kurt let out a sigh. "You totally want to sing something right now, don't you." Blaine looked pitifully back at him, so Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Oh go on, we both know it's coming."

Blaine smiled brightly, his eyes as warm as his embrace. "I will watch you heal, I'll watch you heal with me," he sang to Kurt softly. "I will sing you morning lullabies... You are beautiful and peaceful this way–"

The next line would never make it out, as Kurt leaned in and pressed his lips firmly against his. Blaine let out a pleased sound of surprise, kissing back with fervor. They were both a little clumsy; bumping their noses and clanging their teeth accidentally. But after a few minutes, they got the hang of it. Kurt rested his hand on Blaine's waist as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth.

"God," Blaine groaned. "It's about time we did this. I thought I was going to die of frustration from waiting for you."

Kurt pulled back, ignoring Blaine's noise of protest. "Excuse me? I've been waiting for you to make a move for _ages_."

"I couldn't make the first move."

"Why not?"

"Because I wanted to know for sure that you were ready." Blaine stroked his arm lightly. "It's not for lack of wanting, Kurt, believe me. I'd been planning to ask you out, but then everything with Karofsky went down, and I didn't want to pressure you–"

"Do you mean to tell me," Kurt interrupted, "that we could have been doing this for _months_?"

Blaine laughed. "That really is a tragedy."

"We'd better make up for lost time," Kurt said. Blaine hummed in agreement as Kurt leaned in to capture his lips again.

* * *

Blaine had dressed and styled his hair by the time Kurt emerged from the communal shower. He gestured toward the laptop balanced on his knees. "Power's back on," he reported cheerfully. "How was your shower?"

"Cleansing," Kurt replied. He looked down at himself bashfully, his fingers brushing the surface of the terrycloth robe Blaine had lent him. "I, uh... I mostly got dressed. But I could still use some help putting a shirt on."

"Of course." Blaine hopped up from the bed at once. "Do you want to borrow something of mine?"

"That'd be great, thanks."

Blaine limped slightly as he went over to his wardrobe, pulling out a red hooded sweatshirt. Kurt untied the robe and stripped it off, folding it over a chair. He felt exposed, standing there in only a pair of sweatpants, but Blaine's appreciative gaze lessened his apprehension.

"You have really hot shoulders," Blaine murmured. "I always thought they looked good in shirts, but like this, they're just... wow." He placed a gently kiss on Kurt's clavicle, before easing the sweatshirt over Kurt's head and arms.

"Thanks." Kurt felt his cheeks grow warm, and then he heard a familiar sound that he was quickly beginning to despise.

Lady Gaga was interrupting their moment again.

He grabbed his cell phone off the desk and answered it. "Hi Dad. Are you close?"

"Yeah, we're around five minutes away."

"We?"

"Finn came along for the ride."

That was odd, Kurt thought. "Okay, we'll meet you outside Brighton Hall."

"We?" Burt parroted back teasingly.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You're hilarious. Drive safely." He ended the call and turned back to Blaine, who was watching him with sad eyes. "What?"

"I wish you lived on campus and I could see you all the time," Blaine replied wistfully. "I wish that every day could be like yesterday." He paused. "Well, except for the car accident part. And the twisted ankle. And the botched Warblers practice."

Kurt kissed him, because he could. "We'll find ways to spend time together."

"I know." Blaine kissed him back, stroking his cheek. Then he straightened up suddenly. "Oh god, I forgot to ask. We're dating now, right?"

"Oh." A tingle of pleasure trickled down Kurt's spine. "Yes?"

"Okay." Blaine's grin was blinding. "Okay, good."

"Good." Kurt was smiling too, and it make kissing all the more difficult.

They did their best, though.

* * *

By the time Burt pulled up outside Brighton, Kurt and Blaine were outside holding hands, bundled up against the cold air. Burt got out of the car, and if he noticed the hand-holding, he was tactful enough not to mention it. Kurt dropped Blaine's hand when Burt enveloped him in a tight hug.

"I'm okay, Dad," he murmured.

"Don't scare me like that again," Burt said roughly. "You're..."

"I know. I'm sorry."

They pulled apart, Burt swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand as Finn came up beside them.

"Hey bro," Finn said. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"That's good." Finn was looking around at the campus. "So this is Dalton. It's pretty cool."

"Thanks," Blaine said, when Kurt didn't respond.

"Do the house elves live in your dorm?"

"Ah... no. No, they don't."

Finn nodded, clearly disappointed.

Burt cleared his throat loudly. "Kurt, I called the garage where they towed your car yesterday. The mechanic said it needs some extensive bodywork, so you won't be able to get it back for another week. Possibly longer."

Kurt groaned. "How am I supposed to get here for school every day?"

"Well, today's Friday, so obviously you'll be home for the next couple of days. After that..." Burt glanced at Blaine with a guarded expression. "I spoke with your headmaster, and due to the circumstances – I'm sorry, but using phone trees is ridiculous in this day and age – he felt a bit responsible and said the school could accommodate you."

"That's nice and all, but I can't very well miss a week of classes, even if the headmaster approves it. It'll take me forever to catch up on what I miss."

Burt stared at him blankly. "He said the school could accommodate you, Kurt. As in, _provide accommodations_."

"It means you can stay here till the car gets fixed," Finn supplied helpfully. "He had to explain it to me too."

"That's great!" Blaine said, reaching for Kurt's hand again and squeezing it.

"The headmaster said there's an empty bed in Brighton," Burt said, looking back at Blaine briefly. "So that's where you'll be sleeping. In the empty bed."

Kurt bit back a giggle. "Yeah, we get it, Dad."

"Okay, well, let's get you home, so Carole can make a fuss over you. She's been worried sick." Burt nodded at Blaine a little awkwardly, then got back into the car.

Finn took Kurt's satchel from him and set it in the trunk before folding his tall frame into the passenger seat. He'd left the trunk door gaping open, so Kurt strode over and reached up to bring the door down hard. "He's so considerate," he said with a raised eyebrow, returning to Blaine's side. He noticed the other boy was smiling broadly. "What?"

"Funny how you were able to shut the trunk door," Blaine said. "Reaching over your head and all that."

"Ah." Kurt flushed. "Yeah, about that."

Blaine let out a loud laugh, and gave Kurt a quick hug. "I'll see you Monday," he said.

Kurt nodded. He climbed into the backseat, and his dad drove away from Dalton. After they had been on the road for a few minutes, his cell phone pinged with a new message. He held it up to read it.

_I miss you already. How am I going to get through the next two days?_

He smiled, and typed back, _Courage._

* * *

The End


End file.
